trudging through mud waist-deep these lungs are billows of smog and these hands are brittle claws world-breaker, I am fate unseen through the clearest of lenses, and the most acute of baubles simple phrases caught in raw and searing throats with these ideas, my brain molds an even more bothersome equation
With my words, I conjure up Hell, and Hell takes the form of the familiar. This shell will double, and double, and double. Prototype for the archetype am I. She, the murk, will permeate; hive mind motherhood.
Here she comes walking The silent steps that hover on egg shells Velvet incarnation Her every word is where my mind dwells There she goes walking My body must be made of glass Her eyes stay set forward and I shatter with her pass